


the embers within us

by FakePlant



Series: the embers within us [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Auras, Car Accidents, Explicit Language, Hospitals, Injury, M/M, POV Alternating, Slow Burn, Visions, Voltron General Big Bang 2017, background shallura - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-14 23:17:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11793507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakePlant/pseuds/FakePlant
Summary: Keith isn’t the most friendly person, he knows this. It still doesn’t justify why some stranger is following him around and staring at him like he’s crazy.Meanwhile, Lance has an innate ability to see things.





	1. secrets

 

 

Everyone has a secret.

Secrets are a crazy thing. Secrets are a silent whisper of gossip to your best friend. Secrets can be found in family recipes and in the last breaths of dying men. Secrets are never to be told, yet people are struck with such a desire to share and understand that we always break the ultimate law of secrets: the law of which defines a secret in the first place. These secrets are crazy in the sense that they’re not even _secrets_ to begin with.

Lance McClain didn’t have a phony secret. He had a real one.

Lance McClain’s secret happened to be something quite out of the ordinary, something that he never dared tell anyone, something that he held so captive within himself under lock and key. His secret was just that-- his secret. It belonged in nobody’s mind except his own, for him to only see.

His secret was simple in words but complicated in thought:

Lance had an uncanny ability to see things.

Lance had an uncanny ability to _see things._

Visions. Not premonitions, but rather reflections, dancing and twirling around any soul who crossed his path. They reflected auras, occasionally unfocused and hazy, occasionally clear and realistic; but nevertheless, they were there. They existed. They were real.

They were real.

Perhaps not visible to everyone, but Lance was positive that they were real. He was never so sure of anything else in his life.

The thing about real secrets, however, was that you were to never reveal them. Lance swore to himself that he would never reveal his secret. Never. He swore to himself that he would never reveal his secret, not to anyone, not to anything. He wanted to carry it until he dropped dead.

When Lance gazed in the mirror, everything was calm. Cascading trickles of water danced around his head in a halo of shimmering blue, young goldfish and their sparkling scales illuminating the atmosphere. They swam around his head in the same hazy, ghost-like apparition that Lance came to associate with visions, with reflections of the soul. This was his vision. This was who he was.

This was Lance’s ultimate secret.

 

\--

Out of anything else in the world, the thing that Keith hated the most was _waking up early._ If it was any time before 10 am, he should still be snuggled in his sorry excuse of a bed with his blankets pulled up to his chin. Nevermind getting out and into the sun, that was one hell of another story. His face shouldn’t even come near sunlight until at least noon.

And yet here he was, Keith’s obnoxious brother, knocking on his bedroom door at… what time was it? Nine? Whatever time it was, it was waaaaaay too early.

Keith expressed his frustration with a loud groan. Hopefully Shiro would just take the hint and leave him alone, but of course, his groan was only met with more insistent knocking.

“Keith, get up. We’re going out.” Shiro’s voice filtered in through the door. Keith buried his face under the pillow in an attempt to get peace and quiet. He let out another groan. Hopefully his overbearing brother would get the _goddamn hint_ already.

“Keith, if you don’t open this door in the next five minutes, I’m coming in. I hope you’re wearing clothes. Get up.” With that, Keith heard the sounds of footsteps walking away, to which he let out a relieved sigh. Maybe he could get just a few more winks of sleep…

Keith must have dozed off again because barely any time later, the door ricocheted open with a mighty noise. The covers were forcefully thrown off of him, leaving him shivering at the sudden rush of cold air.

“Keith,” Shiro’s voice was loud and shocking, “Get up now. Do you want me to start tickling you? Because I will.”

Reluctantly, Keith forced himself to open his eyes. He could feel his hair sticking up in an unpleasant bedhead, but he didn’t really care. He was awake now, so there was no going back. Stupid brother and his stupid wake-up tactics. Keith would be sure to get him back later.

“I’m up, I’m up…” He grunted, forcing himself to sit up on his elbows. “Why am I up at the asscrack of dawn?”

“First of all, it’s not even dawn. It’s nine-thirty. Second of all, you’re up because we’re about to go to the bookstore.” Shiro looked pleased with himself, as if waking Keith up from the dead was a worthy feat. Honestly, it was, but Keith wasn’t about to admit that.

“Why the bookstore?” He asked instead, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

“Because I need a textbook for my stats class. And you need to get a book for Pidge for her birthday, yeah? So now’s the perfect time.” Shiro replied effortlessly, shrugging his shoulders.

Keith inwardly admitted defeat. Shiro was right, even though he was kinda annoying. Groggily, he found himself murmuring an exasperated “Fine.”

“Good.” Shiro looked even more pleased with himself, putting on an expression of accomplishment. He sauntered out of Keith’s room finally, leaving Keith in silence again.

He flexed out his groggy muscles and proceeded to get ready. Keith really did love his brother-- despite the fact that Keith was adopted-- in fact, he trusted his brother more than anyone else in the world. Shiro had this calming presence around him, a presence that immediately relaxed everyone in the room. He was respectable, a trait he picked up from his time in the military, though he had enough common sense to rationalize situations. Of course, not to mention his heart of gold. Keith had always admired his brother. It sure was a shame that he already had stress-induced gray hairs and a prosthetic limb.

By the time Keith finished getting ready (including taming his messy bedhead), he was practically urged out the door by his brother, who seemed to ignore the half-asleep groans of protest emerging from Keith’s mouth. They walked down the street, thankful that their apartment wasn’t too far away from the bookstore. Keith didn’t want to stay outside in the winter chill for any longer than necessary.

“Remind me again why we’re going to the bookstore so early in the morning?” Keith pondered aloud, emphasizing the unwillingness in his voice.

“Because, I told you, I need a textbook for one of my classes. And you need to buy Pidge that birthday gift. She’s like, your only friend.” Shiro replied.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t justify why we’re out so _early._ ”

“It’s not even early? Why are you complaining so much?”

“Listen, it’s too early if it’s before noon.” Keith pouted a little. He knew that he was kind of a loner, and he didn’t get out often, but his brother needed to chill with these spontaneous shopping trips.

Shiro didn’t say anything in reply, knowing that he would get nowhere when it came to talking to Keith about this subject. They eventually arrived at their destination, to which Keith wholeheartedly welcomed the blast of the heater once they opened the doors.

The bookstore was quaint. It was stuffed with books of all shapes and sizes, chaotically organized by genre and title. Most books were used, giving the place the same smooth smell of worn pages and coffee stains. Keith thought this place was calming. In a lot of ways, the bookstore reminded him of Shiro.

Shiro murmured something about finding his textbook before leaving Keith alone by the front door. Begrudgingly, Keith made his way to the sci-fi section to hopefully find a book that Pidge would want for her birthday.

Pidge was an enigma in Keith’s life. She was his friend before Keith even realized he needed a friend, she was a constant in his life unrivaled by any other person. Even when Shiro decided to go into the military, Pidge stuck around. Pidge stayed with Keith while even his brother left him. She held his hand as he got the phone call of Shiro’s unfortunate accident with a land mine; she hugged him when Shiro went into surgery to repair whatever was left of his right arm.

So yeah, Pidge was pretty important.

Keith found himself pulling books off of their shelves, examining each and every one for their worthiness as Pidge’s Birthday Present. He knew his best friend had a fondness for sci-fi, so hopefully something related to the subject would suffice.

He was brutally interrupted from his browsing when he noticed a pair of eyes staring daggers at him from across the store.

Now, usually Keith was a very sensible person. He never really confronted anyone unless they gave him a reason to. Sure, he picked fights a lot as a young and angsty teen, but now that he was older, he could distinguish the times that warranted a fight. Unfortunately, with this stranger staring at him like he had 3 eyes, Keith felt his temper rise. Maybe if he just waited for this guy to go away…

No such luck. Keith was browsing the same shelf for another five minutes, and the strange guy never looked away, not even once. Keith looked over and sent the guy a ‘fuck off’ glare, which he hoped would be enough warning. The stranger either didn’t notice or didn’t care, because he was staring pretty intensely and didn’t seem close to stopping.

Talk about _rude_.

Keith squinted and got a better look at the other. He was about his height and age, with the most focused and contemplating expression that Keith had ever seen on another person. It would be endearing if said expression wasn’t focused solely on Keith. And of course, the icing on the cake of this disastrous morning was that the guy wasn’t even _trying_ to be subtle about his creepy staring.

That was the last straw for Keith. He marched right up to this stranger, focusing all of his anger into the most irritated expression that he could possibly muster.

“Hey, what the hell are you staring at me for?!” He angrily exclaimed, his hands clenched at his sides. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I obviously don’t have two heads!”

The stranger gave him a funny look, one thin eyebrow raised astronomically high. It’s as if he just noticed Keith talking to him, and frankly, that aggravated Keith even more.

“Uh….” The stranger said idiotically, obviously wracking his brain for an excuse, “Obviously your mullet!”

 _Woah woah woah WOAH._ Keith felt his face heat up in anger, and he would have decked this guy across the face if he were more rebellious. Yeah, sure, his hair was kinda long in the back, but Keith definitely did not sport a _mullet_ of all things. Mullets were the epitome of disgusting 80’s fashion choices. Obviously he was offended.

“Yeah?! You got a problem with my hair?” He yelled irritatedly, giving the coldest glare he possibly could.

“What the hell?! Why are you giving me that look? I’m just tellin’ ya that I was looking at your mullet.” The stranger gruffed out.

“Okay, you know what, asshole? I don’t have time to talk to you. I hope you have a GPS with ‘the other end of the universe’ as a stored location.” Keith barked out, and he would have gotten up into the stranger’s face, but then suddenly there was a hand gripping the back of his jacket.

“Keith, _knock it off_.” Shiro’s voice growled in his ear suddenly, holding him back. Keith’s anger was boiling hot, and he would have snapped at Shiro, but his brother was giving him The Look™.

The stranger cast a long, calculating stare at Shiro, and Keith could practically see those eyes roaming judgmentally over the pronounced scar on his nose, all of the way down to the white plastic of his prosthetic. It’s like this guy had absolutely no shame at all. Keith was fuming with uncontrolled rage, but Shiro didn’t seem to notice.

“Hey, just ignore anything my brother just said, yeah? He’s kind of hot-headed.” Shiro apologized to the stranger softly. It took another moment for him to notice that Shiro was talking to him… it was like he was doing that creepy analyzing thing again. Keith nearly growled at the stranger ( _how dare he look at my brother like that?!_ ), but he was soon pulled away furiously by Shiro’s strong grip.

They exited out of the bookstore-- rather, Shiro exited while he dragged a stewing Keith behind him, leaving the creepy guy staring in confusion.

\--

Lance liked to think of himself as a rather smooth guy.

Obviously, he wasn’t much of a smooth guy.

As he made his way home, sitting in the corner of the smelly public bus, he allowed all of his senses to consume him. Visions dancing in and out of focus, each person on the bus having their own unique aura that flittered around their heads. A lady a few rows ahead of him had soft dandelion chutes decorating her hair. The man sitting next to him reeked of smoke and had trailing burns encrusted into his skin.

This was one of his favorite hobbies. Peoplewatching, examining each of their visions and making judgements about them. The lady ahead of him was probably a sweet soul, and it reflected around her face in glittering fluffs of dandelion. The man next to him seemed to have a personality reflecting the gruesome burns on his skin, grunting and sighing seemingly at random. This was something that Lance did often; examine the sights around him in an eager hope to understand more about people and more about the world. After all, wasn’t that every human’s purpose? To discover more about the things around them?

However, something remarkable happened earlier; something that had never happened in Lance’s lifetime. Everyone had a vision. Everyone had a vision because everyone was alive, everyone had a vision because everyone had a soul. This was logic. This was Lance’s only rule of the universe. But today, hidden away in the sci-fi section of the dingy bookstore, a man who was very much _alive_ did not have something so essential in Lance’s world.

This man did not have a reflection.

This man did not have a vision, an aura.

Everything about this utterly baffled Lance. He prided himself on being a smooth guy, but obviously he wasn’t that smooth when it came to interacting with an unknown force. He remembered staring into those dark eyes, staring at his dark mullet of a hairdo, _willing a vision to form._ Nothing came. Nothing, no vision, nothing but the empty air around him and that icy cold glare.

It wasn’t until that man with the prosthetic arm and swirling storm clouds came that Lance realized he made a very big mistake-- he should have totally been more subtle about his whole staring ordeal, hopefully then he would have been able to avoid the resulting disaster of a conversation that followed. He should have never even talked to the guy, how stupid could he possibly be--

His phone buzzed.

 **Hunk (10:57 am):** _Hey dude did you pick up that book I asked for???? i kinda need it 4 today…_

Lance gave a soft sigh before replying to his best friend.

 **Lance (10:58 am):** _yeah bro i got it for you. we havin chinese takeout tonight?_

 **Hunk (10:58 am):** _of course dude, i’ll order it on my way back from class_

 **Lance (10:59 am):** _awesome!!!!! thanks, my home slice :) :)_

Of course Lance added an onslaught of emojis and hideous smileys at the end of his message, and next thing he knew, he was hopping off the public bus to continue on with his day.

The picture of a mullet and an icy glare stuck to the back of his mind for the rest of the day.

\--

“Hey, Keith?” The soft voice of his brother filtered across the table, shrouding whatever silence settled between them. It was late. The silence of the city through their windows was nauseating, yet calming at the same time.

Keith looked up from his laptop, momentarily pulling his attention away from the essay he was writing. His brother was also working on an essay, though he looked visibly distracted.

After Shiro came back from the military, he had decided to go to university, studying aeronautical engineering alongside his brother. Despite their age gap, they happened to enjoy their classes together, having frequent study sessions on their small kitchen table.

“Yeah?” Keith answered, tilting his head curiously. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion once he noticed the very obvious distress clouding his features.

“Be honest with me here...” Shiro paused, caught his breath, then continued, “Are you feeling okay?”

“Feeling okay?”

“Yeah. I mean, earlier today at the bookstore, you seemed… not yourself. I know you’ve been working hard to keep your anger issues in check, but today you snapped at this guy for no real reason.” He honestly sounded worried.

Keith contemplated what to say next. He felt the familiar urge to fight, to let his anger loose on his brother, to just get out all of his emotions… Then he took one look at his sullen expression and tousled hair, and promptly stopped himself. He loved his brother to the moon and back. He could never put any more stress on him than he needed.

“I just…” No words came out. There were too many thoughts running around, too many to even try to put into comprehensible words. “I’m just tired, okay?”

“Okay. You know you can come to me if you need any help, yeah?” Shiro smiled a little. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“It’s okay, I don’t need your help.” That came out a lot more stubborn than Keith meant for it to be.

“But, I just want you to know that your problems are very real, and I want to help you.” Shiro’s voice was so goddamn calm and collected, and the warmth in his eyes settled underneath Keith’s skin, agitating him. He couldn’t help but feel the anger bubbling up underneath him. How _dare_ Shiro, who has literally been to hell and back, _feel so inclined to help?_

“No, you listen.” Keith’s voice was very, very quiet. “You need to listen. I am a grown man and I can handle myself, okay? I don’t need your help. You need to focus on yourself, Takashi.” He mumbled out, putting full emphasis on his brother’s first name. He never really used it unless it was absolutely necessary, and right now, he needed Shiro to just _understand._ Hell, nothing was even bothering him! It was just his stupid emotions and anger issues, and that stupid guy at the bookstore just stupidly staring at him like he was a goddamn zoo animal. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Suddenly, Keith was met with the overwhelming need to run.

It was always like this: if he couldn’t solve his issues with words or fists, he ran.

“I need to go outside.” He choppily spat out, interrupting whatever Shiro was about to say next, and got off of his chair to hastily pull on his shoes and his jacket, throwing open the front door with a little too much force than really necessary. How stupid could he possibly be? He just wanted to care for his brother, like Shiro’s done for him all this time, and yet everything he wanted to say always came out too angry or too brash.

Everything happened too fast for his mind to catch up with him.

Keith ran.

\--

When Lance reached his humble abode, the smell of Chinese takeout flooding his nostrils, he felt like he was going to cry tears of happiness. He could always count on high-sodium rice noodles to cure the day’s miseries away. His roommate, the ever-loving Hunk, already sat at his desk with a pair of wooden chopsticks in hand.

Lance plopped himself down into the kitchen chair dramatically. Hunk gave him a weird look, raising an eyebrow while slurping on his noodles.

“I know you’re dramatic, but dude, what’s up with you today?” He spoke.

Lance was silent for a moment, staring at the calming feathers that surrounded Hunk’s aura. He then groaned loudly and threw his head back to stare at the ceiling. “Hunk, do you think I have a staring problem?”

“A staring problem?”

“Yeah. Do I stare at people too much? Is it weird? I’m probably really weird for that, right?”

Hunk put down his chopsticks, giving Lance another look. The feathers around him quivered. Hunk had the ability to give looks that made Lance question himself-- it was what made him a good friend. “Yeah, you do stare at people. But it’s not that big of a deal.” He paused, then continued, “Is there any specific reason why you’re asking this?”

“Some dude almost punched me today. He didn’t, though. But he almost did. I could see it in his eyes.” Lance frowned dramatically, pouting his lower lip. “I guess he was angry I was staring at him.”

Hunk snorted a little, continuing to eat his food. “For some reason, that doesn’t surprise me. Don’t dwell on it, man. Eat your noodles.” He pushed the styrofoam container closer to Lance.

Smiling a little, Lance opened his container and proceeded to stuff his face with high-sodium goodness. He knew he could trust Hunk to make him feel at least a little better.

Lance stretched himself out comfortably on his chair when he was done eating. He knew he felt better now, though he could still feel the lingering self-doubt in the back of his mind. It creeped in there, waiting to reveal itself. Temporary distractions couldn’t quell it.

Lance finally felt it later that night, when Hunk was asleep, and the silence of the city through the windows suffocated him.


	2. tennis shoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He vaguely remembered dialing on his cracked phone, a flurry of noise and movement, more rain, more cold.
> 
> Everything muddled together, then he forgot.

Lance McClain wasn’t the type of guy to go on broody walks alone. He much prefered the company of others, to be surrounded by welcoming voices and idle chatter to keep his mind stimulated. Yet here he was, stepping in puddles along the damp sidewalk, alone. It was dark, and it was rainy, and he didn’t enjoy the wetness in his tennis shoes, but he still walked.

He still walked. Perhaps it was the smell of rain, or the dampness in his hoodie, or the way his shoes squeaked-- everything was calm, clear, and simple. There was nothing else in the world except his thoughts and his squeaky shoes. There were no visions here, no ghastly shadows or overbearing storm clouds or dandelion sprouts. There was only rain.

Lance realized one thing while he walked; it was _ cold.  _ The kind of unbearable cold that seeped into his skin and turned his joints pink, the kind of cold that could only be described as  _ cold.  _ He didn’t like it, but he’d gladly take up any chance to walk in the rain, even if it was as cold as the tundra. He even entertained the thought of turning around and going back to his dorm, but that meant sacrificing this time to himself, which was totally out of the question.

He thought. That was what usually happened when Lance walked at night, with nothing but silence and the stars to hear. No visions creeping into his mind, nothing. He felt at peace with nothing.

Nothing. Thoughts drifted to the man at the bookstore. The man with the out-of-style hairdo, with the sharp gaze and the rough voice and dynamic body language. The man with scrunchy eyebrows and personality of anger in a microwave. The man with nothing. The man that occupied his thoughts, who wouldn’t fucking _ get out of his head…. _

It was obviously a cycle; Lance tried to think about nothing, Lance thought about the man who had nothing, and then Lance thought about not thinking about the man. It then repeated over and over again. Repeat, repeat, repeat. An endless cycle of nothingness.

Suddenly, Lance caught movement out of the corner of his eye, flickering briefly in the orange streetlight before dashing in a full-on sprint.

It was a person. The thing moving aggressively was a person.

A person running faster than Usain Bolt in the apocalypse.

Frankly, Lance’s emotions jumbled in rays of confusion and curiosity, so he followed the figure with his eyes, running along the sidewalk on the other side of the street in nothing but a worn jacket and a winter hat. The figure never slowed. He _ ran. _ Running faster and faster, faster and faster, until Lance could barely make out dark hair, fiery eyes, and….. Nothing.

The figure ran towards the sidewalk. Lance saw what happened next before he could process it. 

No lights. Chrome of a bumper, the flurry of windshield wipers, the ultimate way a monstrous vehicle collided with the figure. A scream. A thud. Squealing tires. Rain. The rev of an engine. Swerve. Cold. Nothing. Nothing, nothing. Nothingnothingnothingnothingnothing…

Lance was sprinting for the person before his mind made the connection. He vaguely remembered dialing on his cracked phone, a flurry of noise and movement, more rain, more cold.

 

Everything muddled together, then he forgot.

 

\--

 

When Keith woke, he had no idea what his mind was trying to process. The undeniable smell of soap, stale and unnatural, the dread behind his eyelids, the sound of his own mouth uttering a groan. Bright lights. Bright, bright lights, white and uncomfortable, permeating into his corneas with painful obscurity. No feeling in his limbs, just the overwhelming presence of his own mind.

He squeezed his eyes tighter, to block out the light. His head hurt. This was the first thing that Keith noticed, and then his chest hurt, then his legs and his arms, and soon enough his entire body quivered in pain.

He opened his eyes in order to make sense of his surroundings. Everything was muffled and blurry; only the faintest sounds of murmuring coming from above him. Four. Four people. Keith noticed four people, all crowding around him. He couldn’t understand what they were saying.

His brother. His brother was there. Shiro was there. The unnoticed tenseness in his shoulders ebbed away once he caught sight of his brother’s natural, relieved smile. Keith knew he was going to be okay. His brother was there, and that’s all that mattered to him. Keith could trust Shiro.

Another figure leaned over him, blocking his sight of his brother. This figure was also extremely familiar, all messy brown hair and wide expressive eyes. Pidge. Pidge was here. Pidge, his best friend, a kind face whom he was glad to see. She was murmuring something to Shiro, sounding excited and on the verge of death all at once. Keith’s brain wasn’t working fast enough to process what she was saying. 

The two other figures weren’t necessarily easy to figure out, not for Keith’s lagging brain, at least. A lady with brilliant white hair and smooth, dark skin whom he knew was important. Keith couldn’t remember why.

And then-- a face he’d only seen once, but which was definitely recognizable after a moment of thought. Cold eyes that bore into his soul, all-encompassing and calculating. A face made of angles and sharp edges, yet all flowing smoothly together like a coursing river. Keith knew this face. How could he not?

“What……” Keith groaned out with all of his effort, his voice barely cooperating. He was hoarse, and he ached, and he couldn’t feel most of his fingers. Was that an IV stuck to his arm? Keith reasoned he was probably drugged to high heavens.

Pidge practically tackled him, all four feet eleven inches of pure emotion. She held herself back enough to not crush him, though Keith was aware of her unwavering presence at his side.

“YOU’RE AWAKE!” Her words rang clear, though they were loud, and he had to wince in response to the pounding in his ears. It subsided after a moment, though Pidge got the hint and backed off a little. “Sorry, sorry,” she apologized at a more reasonable volume, “dude, you literally scared all of us. Shiro was about to cry. Hell, I  _ did  _ cry. Do you even know what happened?”

“What… happened?” Keith urged out, and suddenly he felt something on his lips. A cup. Shiro was holding a cup, filled with water. Keith was then aware of how much of a mess he was; thirsty, dirty, and desperately in need of a shower. Was his shirt wet? Rain, yeah, rain. He remembered rain. He eagerly sipped on the water against his lips while Pidge spoke.

“You got hit by a car. A car with no lights apparently, and it slammed into your side and nearly ran over your legs. We’re in the hospital right now, because this guy right here--” she pointed over her shoulder at the man with the cool gaze, “he saw everything and called for help. You would’ve been a lot worse if he wasn’t there to help.” 

At the mention of himself, the man blinked and looked around, like he was just startled out of a daze. His eyebrow lifted ever so slightly in acknowledgement. “Hey… You’re welcome for saving your life, by the way.”

Keith closed his eyes again, letting out a long breath. This guy was kind of annoying.

Shiro placed the water cup aside so he could lean over and affectionately push the hair out of Keith’s face. “As soon as I found out you were here, Allura and I immediately came. I’m so glad you’re here. I’m so glad this man found you. I’m so, so, so glad.” Shiro’s voice got softer and softer the more he spoke, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against his palm. The white locks of hair on the front of his head ruffled idly with the movement, and Keith huffed out a breath.

“Don’t… be a sap about it.” He grunted out. His voice still felt hoarse, and the pretty lady with the platinum hair approached him cautiously. She was truly radiant, and Keith finally made the connection-- Allura, Shiro’s girlfriend. No wonder she looked so familiar.

“We should probably leave him alone for a bit. To rest.” She had a pretty accent, Keith pondered, and he knew why his brother liked her so much.

Shiro looked like he wanted to argue, then he looked at Keith and his truly exhausted form, and then merely nodded at her suggestion. She grabbed his forearm-- his prosthetic forearm-- and gently tugged him towards the door. Pidge gently flicked Keith’s forehead before following after the two, giving him a soft smile.

The last person, the stranger whose gaze locked on him so familiarly, idled for a few moments.

“Still nothing.” He said quietly, perhaps to himself. Keith didn’t know what that meant. Then he left, and Keith was alone again.

He welcomed his exhaustion and slept.

 

\--

 

Lance really,  _ really _ didn’t like hospitals.

Maybe it was something about how the air never circulated-- holding each emotion of dread in its stale hallways, or how the smell of disinfectant turned his emotions sour. 

And honestly, he had no idea how it happened. Everything was too chaotic and blurry to even remember what happened after the  _ incident.  _ There was a flurry of lights, noises, phone calls, visions… Needless to say, Lance was sporting a massive headache.

They were all ushered out of the stranger’s room so the guy could get some rest. Thankfully there was nothing life-threatening; just a couple of cracked ribs, a broken arm, and a massive concussion. Maybe that car was going slower than he thought. Hell, Lance’s head was pounding just  _ trying _ to remember.

As Lance surveyed the people around him, people he assumed were all close with this mysterious stranger, he came to the realization that this guy didn’t have many friends. Only three people. One of whom Lance recognized at the bookstore not too long ago, a man with storm clouds and raging winds.

His face was certainly something. Definitely more defined, old and young at the same time… a delicate pink scar looped over his nose and gray hairs sprouted at the crown of his head, surrounded with a shaggy black undercut. Storm clouds thundered around his complexion in swooping swirls of monotonous gray, obstructing his vision, thundering and downpouring. Lance really handed it to the guy: obviously he went through a lot in his life, with the prosthetic arm and all, not to mention what kind of emotional scarring the poor guy had.

His companion.  _ Holy crow.  _ Lance could appreciate a beautiful girl when he saw one-- this one in particular had gorgeous dark skin and silver hair, obviously dyed, complete with glittering makeup to match the jewels of the crown perched on her head. The gold shined in the light. Truly a beautiful vision for a truly beautiful lady.

The last person, a young girl, seemed to be chattering idly. Wild, soft hair on a small stature, complete with round-framed glasses and an oversized hoodie. Gentle green plants danced on top of her head. The little leaves were barely noticeable, yet they seemed to grow so abundantly on such a tiny person. The thought made Lance smile inwardly.

It took a few moments for Lance to realize that they were staring at him. Three sets of eyes, all completely different. He blinked.

“Um, sorry. I think I zoned out. Did you say something?” He asked, directing his attention to each of them.

“Yeah. Who the heck are you?” The short one asked bluntly, adjusting her glasses with a finger.

Oh yeah, duh. Lance completely forgot to introduce himself. He felt like an idiot now, analyzing all of them without even saying hello.

“Oh! Um, yeah. My name is Lance McClain. I’m the guy who called the ambulance for your friend. I.. I don’t really remember much of what happened after, though.” Lance’s voice shrunk by the end of his sentence, feeling a bout of uncharacteristic nervousness creep into his bones. 

Mr. Storm Clouds gave him a gentle smile, something so broken and raw that Lance could only stare in return.

“Hey, I’m Shiro. I’m Keith’s brother. You know… you saved his life. I can’t really thank you enough.” Shiro came up close to Lance, an indecipherable look on his face, before wrapping both of his arms around him in a tight squeeze. Lance didn’t really know why he deserved such a tight hug, or even a thank you, though he comfortingly patted the man’s shoulders in silent reassurance.

“It’s cool. I did what anyone would.” Lance replied simply, gently letting Shiro withdraw from the hug.

The beautiful girl gently held a hand on Shiro’s upper arm, giving Lance a dazzling smile. The crown glittered on her head. If she wasn’t so obviously in love with Shiro, Lance might’ve tried to flirt with her.

“I’m Allura, and this is Pidge.” She spoke, and holy crow, was that an  _ accent?  _ Some of her hair dipped into her eyes, so she pushed it away with a well-manicured hand. Pidge perked up at her side, wild hair bouncing with the movement.

“We’re all really grateful that you were there to help.” Pidge spoke, and Lance noticed the little sprouts in her hair swayed with an unknown wind. “You don’t even know how important it is to us that you were there.” Her voice quivered. Soft tears budded at the corner of her eyes, and Allura gently reached over to touch her shoulder.

“Shiro.” Allura spoke, never letting go of Pidge’s shoulder. “I’m going to take her home. She obviously needs rest, or she’s going to stress herself out.” Her voice was quiet. Lance was momentarily smitten with her beautiful accent, then he turned to Shiro. The older man nodded softly, giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead before smiling. They turned and headed off, leaving Shiro and Lance alone.

Lance sucked in a breath. Now that everything was over with, that all of the chaos had more or less had died down, Lance didn’t know what to do with himself. Shiro was giving him a look, one that Lance had a hard time deciphering, and soft storm clouds seemed to swirl a little more.

“Lance.” Shiro spoke, and Lance happened to love the way his name sounded so sharp and regal off of his tongue, “I… I want to thank you again. You know, my brother… he isn’t exactly the most friendly person. He has problems. You know this, right? You were the one he yelled at in the bookstore the other day.”

“Um. Yeah.” Lance squeaked out. In all actuality, he had no idea what to say in response, so he merely focused his gaze into the soft waves of mist dancing around the other’s temple.

“And, when he left to go into the street… He was running. He always runs from his problems. He always runs or he fights-- and this is the only time I wish he didn’t run.”

Once again, Lance didn’t know what to do, or what to say. This man seemed to be going through so much more than he let on. He opened his mouth to let out some sort of reply, but before he could say anything, arms wrapped around him tightly. One plastic, one real, but they were both Shiro’s; they conveyed so much emotion in a simple gesture, squeezing the guts out of Lance while storm clouds tickled his cheeks.

“Thank you. Thank you so much, thank you thank you thank you…” Shiro mumbled off, never releasing his hold.

He’s stuck. Lance is stuck in this little world, this world of this man and his brother, his brother who has nothing. Lance is so incorporated in this little bubble he never thought existed. He had the realization that he’s so  _ stuck _ and he can’t back out. Stuck, stuck, stuck.

“You know, you really don’t need to thank me. I’m not a hero. I’m just a normal guy.” Lance mumbled once his voice returned to him, gently rubbing Shiro’s shoulder. “Plus, I was doing what anyone else would do.”

Shiro let go of him, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not going to even argue with that. You’ve been a big help. If you ever need anything at all,” he reached into his pocket suddenly, “please call me.” A small slip of paper with a phone number made it into Lance’s grasp. Yep, he was definitely stuck in this.

“Yeah. I’ll do that.” Lance smiled. The small piece of paper felt so warm and delicate in his palm, and Lance took great care as he folded it up and stuck it in his wallet.

It wasn’t long before Shiro was pulled away by doctors and nurses, all asking for signatures and paperwork. Shiro didn’t say anything as he left, only nodded and gave a small salute to Lance, who chuckled and returned it. (Lance also noted that the storm clouds grew more soft, less volatile).

Lance was alone again.

He needed to leave this hospital, that’s what he needed to do. Everything felt so small and constrained. The walls were plain, and without the reassuring presence of Shiro by his side, Lance felt even more suffocated.

Lance ran.

Perhaps it was the smell of rain, or the dampness in his hoodie, or the way his shoes squeaked-- Lance felt needed. The concrete beneath his tennis shoes thumped with every step, every heartbeat. It felt good to be stuck. Stuck and liberated simultaneously, in a contradictory sort of sense, yet still complete all the same. Lance ran. Lance thought. Lance ran and thought at the same time, simply because he could. 

The man had nothing. No visions leaking around his forehead, or those sharp eyes, or the scowl on his face. No inhibitions, no regrets, nothing. But the one thing that he did have was a brother: one that cared and stressed too much, with storm clouds and too much locked away. Lance could never have that kind of relationship. So maybe, he thought, the man did have something. 

 

As he ran, Lance realized he _completely_ forgot what this guy’s name was.


	3. headaches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hello?” Shiro’s voice in the phone crackled curiously.  
> “Hey. It’s Lance. Remember me?” He smiled, even though Shiro couldn’t see, “And I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”

Lance McClain was nervous. 

Of course, he never thought of himself as a very nervous person, but rather someone unafraid to speak his mind and his thoughts. He was the most straightforward and unabashed person amongst everyone he knew, and he actively knew this, and he actively acted upon it.

When he held the little slip of paper in his fingers, however… The world came crashing down over him, every little bit of anxiety in his bones throbbing and pulsing uncomfortably. He could feel his throat close up over a small set of numbers-- and it wasn’t until he tucked the paper safely into his favorite jacket pocket that he felt it all ebb away.

This lasted for a while. A few weeks at most, and it took a while. It took a while for Lance to finally give in and read that small piece of paper. It took a while to finally dial those numbers into his phone, to save the name under “Shiro” (and ad little storm cloud emojis, of course), and to press the ominous green call button.

When he did, though, Lance felt his own existence lighten, like the colors in his vision turned a little more vibrant.

_ “Hello?”  _ Shiro’s voice in the phone crackled curiously.

“Hey. It’s Lance. Remember me?” He smiled, even though Shiro couldn’t see, “And I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”

_ “Hey, Lance. What can I do for you?”  _ His voice was really chipper, and if Lance didn’t know any better, he would have guessed Shiro was waiting for his call.

Lance sucked in a breath. “I want to meet your brother.” he gulped in whatever remaining nervousness was left on his tongue, “Like, officially. Just to meet up and see how he’s doing, y’know?”  _ Oh god, this was really weird, wasn’t it? Would Shiro be creeped out? Was this a weird request? _

Shiro’s next words were everything Lance ever wanted to hear:  _ “I’m sure he’d love to.” _

 

\--

 

It took a while.

It took a while for Keith to get back on his feet, to recover from the crash, to get his life back in order. Three weeks, to be exact. It took time for him to think straight without a pounding headache, and it took time to wean off from all of the medication. But Keith was nothing but persistent; he ended up healing a lot faster than the doctors thought possible. Yeah, it was only a few weeks in the hospital, but Keith had never felt more  _ alive  _ and aware of his existence in those short weeks. (And frankly, he could have left the hospital after the first week, but his brother probably persuaded the doctors to keep him for a while longer).

Shiro was a lifesaver, really. He made it his personal mission to get information from all of his classes so he wouldn’t fall behind. After all, tuition wasn’t cheap, and he wasn’t about to waste it. Because of his brother’s thoughtfulness, Keith had something to think about during his time in the hospital: looking over the notes of his classmates and processing information while he healed.

Keith also had a lot of time alone.

When alone, the mind has a tendency to wander. This wasn’t new to Keith. His mind explored all sorts of things while staring at the same dingy hospital ceiling. He thought of blue eyes and inquisitive stares, he thought of his brother, he thought of Pidge and Allura. He thought of what would have happened if he wasn’t pushed out of the way from that stupid vehicle. Would the stranger ever find him again? Would his brother turn even more distraught? Would Pidge ever be the same? But, more than anything, Keith thought of rain and soggy tennis shoes.

He didn’t even know the guy’s name.

Shiro  knew. He could always ask his brother. But he felt vulnerable, and what would he even do with the information? Keith wasn’t gonna send him a thank you card, that’s for sure.  _ Thank you, strange mystery man, for saving my life.  _ He snickered at the thought.

It wasn’t long before Shiro visited. Exactly one o’clock, after his last class of the day. Keith had his schedule memorized.

“Hey, Space Ranger.” Shiro laughed as he entered the room. “How’s it going?”

Keith let out an involuntary chuckle. “That nickname is so lame. Please never call me that again.” There was a little bite in his tone, but the smiley expression on his face betrayed his words.

“Alright, alright. I see you’re doing well, if you’re that snappy. Classic Keith.”   
“Thanks. You flatter me.” He droned sarcastically. “So what’s up?”

“The doctor said you’re set to be released day after tomorrow. It’ll be good to have you back again, you know? It’s lonely without you.”

Keith frowned a little. It was unlike his brother to be so sensitive. “Well, I’m just glad you haven’t burned the apartment down without me.” He joked to lighten the mood.

“Haha, yeah…” Shiro trailed off a little. He settled down in the chair closest to Keith’s bed, and his face turned oddly serious. Keith rose an eyebrow, eyeing his brother warily. There was something amiss here, but he couldn’t figure out what Shiro was hiding.

“Shiro. Stop doing…. Whatever it is you’re doing. If there’s something wrong, jsut tell me.” Keith spoke quietly.

“It’s… Lance. He called me the other day, he said he wanted to talk to you.” Shiro closed his eyes and let out a little sigh.

“...Who?”

“Lance McClain. The guy who you yelled at in the bookstore. And coincidentally, the guy who saved your life.”

“.... Oh.”

Keith didn’t know what to do with this information. Lance was the guy at the bookstore? Lance McClain? The guy walking in the rain with the strange glare and the soggy tennis shoes? The guy who stares a lot? Now that Keith put the name to the face, he felt some clouds clear in his brain. It made sense.

… Lance. Lance McClain.

“Lance McClain.” Keith let the name roll through his mind. It tasted sharp on his tongue. It sounded like the color blue, and reminded him of rainy days and chilly nights. “He wants to talk to me?”

“Yeah.” Shiro paused a minute. “And Keith, I think you should. It would be good for you. I think he really wants to get to know you, to be your friend. And lord knows you need a friend.”

“Not true! I’ve got a Pidge.” Keith retorted.

“Pidge doesn’t count. You’ve known her for years and you’re only friends because I’m friends with her family.” Shiro chuckled, reaching out to ruffle the messy flop of hair on Keith’s head. 

Keith pouted a little, crossing his uninjured arm over his chest. Yeah, he was curious about Lance, but he wasn’t sure if becoming friends with him was the best idea. As Keith looked up and met Shiro’s unwavering, excited gaze, he couldn’t bring himself to disagree. “Fine. I’ll talk to him.”

Shiro’s smile was practically audible. “Good!”

 

\-- 

 

Lance’s vision was swimming. It kept flickering in and out of focus, like a dream, and it kind of ached a little. Black, chaotic spots danced in his vision. He felt like one of those old men whose arthritis acted up in the rain, except he didn’t have arthritis and it wasn’t raining. Frankly, it was disorienting.

Lance felt himself getting a headache. Lately, he’s had headaches a lot.

The quaint little coffee shop that Lance found himself in was everything that a coffee shop was supposed to be: cozy, warm, and gentle. Lance had a hard time adjusting with his vision blanking out on him, but he tried his best to get comfortable in his little corner booth. 

It kind of surprised him that Shiro’s brother would pick a place like this to meet. The guy seemed so angry and erratic; a calm place like this seemed way out of his league. And it still bugged Lance that he  _ completely forgot _ his name. How stupid and aloof could he be?

He surveyed the crowd every time the little bell on the door jingled with a new customer, and he grew more and more disappointed every time it wasn’t who he was looking for. His eyes were starting to burn each time he looked at a stranger’s aura, so he decided to stare into the swirls of his macchiato instead. 

“...Hey.” Sudden words surprised Lance, and when he looked up, he was met with the sight of him. The guy. The guy who’d been plaguing his mind for the past  _ three weeks _ . This guy looked just the same as the day Lance met him, except with the addition of a white cast on his arm, and some noticeable dark circles under his eyes. “Lance, right?”

“Oh! Um.” Now that they were standing in front of each other, Lance had no idea what to do. Should he give a hug? A bro-fist? Shake his hand? Pat his shoulder? He fumbled awkwardly with one of his hands as he contemplated what to do, before settling for a handshake. “I’m Lance. Lance McClain. And as crazy as this sounds, after all of the shit we’ve been through, I don’t think I ever caught your name.”  _ Yeah, Lance. Nice and smooth. Charm him. _

The other shook his hand softly and comfortingly, rather than the firm handshakes that Lance was used to. It was a pleasant change, a simple touch of hands, and he vaguely thought to himself:  _ Wow, this guy sure is full of surprises.  _ “My name is Keith Shirogane.” He spoke, “Your resident car crash victim, adopted brother of an ex-soldier, and broke college student.”

“Oooh, nice introduction. The name’s Lance,” Lance found himself blurting out, and he mentally kicked himself. _ Keith already knew your name, stupid. _ What an awful first (second? third?) impression. “I’m just your average dude, saving innocent car crash victims, and local critic of awful mullets.”

Keith’s eyebrow twitched, and he silently sat himself down in the booth across from Lance. “Not my fault I actually have a sense of originality.” He snapped, but then bit his lip and looked away, like he was trying to reel in his temper.

“Mullets died out like thirty years ago, dude.” The other was staring at him, and his eyebrows were furrowed slightly. Keith. Keith was the guy’s name. Keith was a nice name. Simple, but still nice. Changing into a more of a serious tone, Lance hummed, “It’s nice to meet ya officially, after all we’ve been through.” 

Keith bit his lip again and gave a half-smile. “Yeah. And, um. Thanks for, y’know, saving my life and all.” He mumbled out awkwardly. (Inwardly, Lance could tell that Keith probably didn’t apologize a lot).

“It’s cool, dude. I would’ve done it for anyone. Honestly, I wasn’t really thinking when it happened.” He smiled again, and took a sip of his macchiato.

It was silent for a moment. It was kind of awkward, but Keith didn’t seem to notice. 

Keith stared at the coffee cup in Lance’s grasp, and something in his mind clicked. “Oh. Yeah. I’ll be right back, I’m gonna go order some coffee real quick.”

Lance nodded and hummed in response, and watched the other get up from his seat and head to the counter. He took this time to fully admire Keith’s appearance-- simple yet sleek, his mullet tied neatly behind his head while fringe hung loosely around his ears. He was generic, yet he was also mysterious, because no matter how hard Lance looked… He couldn’t see any aura. Keith still had nothing. Just like the other times Lance met him, Keith was just a person; no clouds or feathers or any other type of vision surrounding his face. Keith was a mystery, and other than a severely outdated hairstyle, there wasn’t much for Lance to look at.

…. But what he could see, for some reason, caused the ache behind his eyelids to diminish, like Keith was a calming force with no distracting aura flittering about. It was soothing, and Lance appreciated that. He could feel his headache slowly subsiding.

By the time Keith came back to the booth, a cup of black coffee in his hand, Lance was already halfway through his own macchiato. “So, Keith,” Lance pondered aloud jokingly, “What’s it like to live through a car crash and survive for another day?”

The look that Keith gave Lance was honestly Comedy Gold, capitalization necessary. Keith stared blankly, unimpressed, and took a sip of his black coffee. “It sucked.”

Lance let out a laugh, a resounding  _ ha!  _ that caught Keith off guard. “Well, at least you were fortunate enough to have someone as heroic as me around to save you, yeah?”

Once again, Keith had a look of Pure Comedy Gold on his face, definitely not understanding anything spewing out of Lance’s mouth. “Uh. I guess?” He replied, entirely confused.

“Well, you’re welcome.” Lance took a final sip of his macchiato, setting the cup back onto the table. Keith was too busy sipping at his too-hot coffee to continue the conversation. Either that, or he was too socially awkward. Lance wasn’t sure. He continued the conversation anyways,  “So, your brother. Shiro. What’s he like?”

“My brother? Oh, he’s okay, I guess. He worries too much sometimes.” Keith shrugged a little. “I’m kind of surprised he gave you his phone number. He must really appreciate what you did.”

“Oh, um.” Lance was lost for words momentarily, “I’m glad. Y’know, I’m not lying when I say I wasn’t really thinking. When I saved, you, I mean. It was kind of like a reflex. Like I needed to do it. Does that make sense or am I sounding like an idiot?”

Keith was uncomfortable. Lance could tell this. He figured the guy probably didn’t have any friends, or had a hard time talking about his feelings, because the frown on Keith’s face was apparent. And it also didn’t help that the guy had no  _ goddamn _ aura and was mysterious to begin with.

“It’s fine. I’m grateful, anyways. And I do want to… apologize… for the way I yelled at you in the bookstore.” Keith stumbled over his words a little. “I’m… not used to apologizing, okay?”

Lance chuckled a little. It was kind of silly how Keith seemed so stubborn, but he allowed the guy to grumble over his words anyways. 

“It’s okay dude, really. I accept your apology. And I was wondering if you’d want to hang out more? Maybe next time I could buy you a milkshake or something.” Lance leaned on his hand, watching as the whites of Keith’s eyes grew significantly wider. It was childish, really, how Lance was acting like a preschooler asking to be friends with someone he just met. And he was excited. He was excited to see what Keith’s friendship had to offer, what caused him to have no aura, why his brother had a prosthetic arm and raging storm clouds. Lance was excited to see what Keith hid behind his mysterious barrier, what kinds of secrets and stories he had to tell.

“...Sure. I’d like that.” And then, Keith smiled.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY THANKS SO MUCH FOR READING THIS FIRST PART! don't worry, part 2 is coming soon, so make sure you subscribe to this series so you won't miss it.
> 
> once again thanks a lot to my wonderful artist @thoccki for illustrating this story!

**Author's Note:**

> HEY EVERYONE this is my fic for the Voltron Big Bang! It's illustrated by the lovely thoccki on tumblr, who is absolutely amazing and inspiring.
> 
> thanks for reading!
> 
> check out the art [here!!!!!!!](https://thoccki.tumblr.com/post/164144692122)
> 
>    
> you can also find me on tumblr @fake-plant :)))


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